The Intersection of Gender and Ethnic Identities in the Cuzco–Machu Picchu Tourism Industry

Identity, Tourism, and Work

Scholarly work shows that ethnic identities are often deployed for tourism ends. Some scholars argue that indigenous identities are lost through the “commodification of culture” (Greenwood, 1989 [1977]), while others suggest that tourism-oriented products and services create new meanings that become part of local cultural identities (Cohen, 1988: 383) or lead to a cultural renaissance (Stronza, 2001; 2008; van den Berghe, 1994: 17). Globally endorsed ethnic stereotypes and nostalgic images are an important driver of international tourism. Travel brochures, television travel channels, printed guidebooks, advertisements, and other materials promote essentialized notions of indigenousness. As Canessa (2005a: 4) argues, for Andean countries “‘the Indian’ has become an international commodity, and Indians are widely recognized around the globe for their ‘traditional’ lifestyles.” Andean states are active in spreading these stereotypes. For example, the web site of Promperu (a government agency that promotes Peru through exports and tourism) demonstrates the way in which the Peruvian state tries to capitalize on the essentialization of the identities of its indigenous peoples. ¹ The global circulation of these stereotypes can be seen as new form of Orientalism (Babb, 2011: 154; Said, 2001 [1978]). Indigenous peoples themselves are very much aware of these images. They actively appropriate them and, in the words of Stronza (2008), mirror them for the tourists. Stronza shows that the local hosts of an Amazon ecotourism lodge in Peru match their behavior and appearance to visitors’ expectations. They intentionally play with their ethnicity and deploy notions of authenticity and cultural difference to reach out to tourists (Babb, 2011: 154; see also Little, 2004; Stronza, 2008).

In this connection, Babb (2011: 153–155 and in this issue) argues for a reinterpretation of Marisol de la Cadena’s (1995) notion that “women are more Indian” than men. De la Cadena holds that the ethnic positions of men and women of the indigenous community of Chitapampa (near Cuzco) are diverging. The men leave the community to look for urban work. As a result, they become less involved in their community as semi-subsistence farmers, improve their fluency in Spanish, and adjust their clothing to more urban styles. Canessa (2005b) reaches similar conclusions for the community of Pocobaya, near La Paz, Bolivia, where the men start to become urban mestizos in appearance and demeanor, while their women become more tightly bound to their communities and plots of land as they take full responsibility for agricultural and household tasks during their husbands’ absence. Following Orlove (1998), who relates Andes indigeneity to closeness to the earth, this means that they become increasingly associated with Indianness. De la Cadena (1995: 329–330) and others (Rens, 2003; Weismantel, 2001: 139–140) have argued that it cannot be assumed that Andean gender relations and notions are always complementary and that notions of men’s racial and cultural superiority over women are the result of experiences outside their communities. As men become “whiter,” their women become more Indian and thus inferior in their eyes (Canessa, 2005b; de la Cadena, 1995). With the introduction of tourism, Babb argues, the Indianness of women may become less a liability than a source of cultural capital. It makes them attractive to tourists and allows them to use their gender and ethnicity to open up new ways of earning a living and improving their lives. Henrici’s (2002) study of gender and ethnicity in the tourist region of Machu Picchu confirms Babb’s conclusion, showing that female artisans are economically successful if they sell their handicrafts as indigenous women.

Babb’s and Henrici’s insights are especially important in the light of the relationship between ethnicity and class. In the Andes a complex linkage exists between economic activity and ethnicity. This linkage is historically rooted in the colonial tributary system, with its ethnic categorization of socioeconomic groupings (Harris, 1995: 364–377; Pape, 2009: 103–104). Ethnic categories are designators of class both practically and symbolically, and Indianness is associated with subsistence-oriented peasant communities and poverty. Nowadays, for the Indian population economic and social advancement almost always coincides with a change of ethnic identity to that of mestizo; in other words, it requires rural-to-urban migration and a change in economic activities, language, and appearance. For the indigenous women who work in tourism and use their identities to economic advantage—converting their cultural capital into economic capital (Bourdieu, 1986)—the association between Indianness and poverty may become neutralized.

Most studies on tourism work and identity focus on the strategic use of identities—their intentional construction and commodification. Commodification is often perceived as negative in that it supposedly coincides with the loss of meaning and places tradition and culture in jeopardy (Greenwood, 1989 [1977]; Taylor, 2001: 11–13). The distinction created between the parts of identities deployed instrumentally in tourism and the parts unaffected by tourism leads to the notion that the latter are the “real thing.” Stronza (2008: 254), for example, says that the people in the Amazon ecotourism lodge she studied do not lose sight of who they “really” are even when they are putting on cultural performances for tourists:

The fact that the people . . . are shifting the outward manifestation of their identity does not necessarily imply that they have lost a sense of who they are (“really are”), or their ability to distinguish what is genuine from spurious. Especially in places where tourism is invited rather than imposed . . . locals can remain conscious of what is real and staged even as they manipulate their culture to attract more tourists.

This assertion resonates with MacCannell’s (1973; 1999 [1976]) early but still influential theoretical distinction between the display of a “staged authenticity” in front of tourists and the experience backstage, hidden from the tourist’s gaze, where people live their real traditions, cultures, and identities. The three cases I explore in this article show that the distinction between staged and real is problematic. Gender, ethnicity, and tourism work are in constant movement, creating a multitude of meanings and profound social, cultural, and economic outcomes. The workers may draw on different dimensions of their identities in different situations, and their work with tourists is an integral part of those identities.

Tourism in the Machu Picchu Region

Tourism in Peru has grown explosively since the capture of the leader of the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) terrorist organization in the early 1990s. In 1992 Peru received 217,000 international tourists (Webb and Fernández Baca, 2002: table 29.1); 18 years later, the figure was over 2 million (MINCETUR, 2011)The annual growth rate over the past 10 years has been around 8 percent. Machu Picchu is Peru’s flagship tourist attraction. Between 2004 and 2011, the annual number of tourists visiting this Inca archaeological park and site has risen from 587,000 to 971,000 (MINCETUR, 2012). In 2010 tourism was Peru’s fifth-most-important source of foreign exchange (behind mining, agriculture, fishery, and oil production) and, with US2,242 million, generated almost 4 percent of the country’s gross national product for that year (Observatorio Turístico del Perú, 2011a; 2011b).

The state is a major player in the way tourism is promoted and developed. Since the presidency of Alberto Fujimori (1990–2000), Peru’s tourist development programs have been characterized by neoliberal economic policies, openness to foreign investment, and the granting of concessions to international companies (see also Desforges, 2000). An important example of the last mentioned is the rail link between Cuzco and Machu Picchu. The state granted the concession to run trains on this route to PeruRail, which is partly owned by Orient Express Ltd., an international travel company listed on the New York Stock Exchange. Therefore, since the train is the only way to reach Machu Picchu (unless one wants to walk the Inca Trail), an international company monopolizes access to Peru’s most important tourism attraction. ² Many luxurious hotels in the region are also foreign-owned. Besides large-scale international players, many national and local investors develop tourism businesses and run travel agencies, shops, hostels, restaurants, night clubs, and bus companies.

The informal sector is also highly developed. Many street vendors, taxi drivers, shoe shiners, beggars, and other informal workers struggle to keep their heads above water. These street workers are often engaged in a struggle with local governments over the right to work and sell at tourist places that makes these places conflictive and insecure (Steel, 2006; 2008). In the recent past, for example, the mayor of Cuzco, Carlos Valencia (who was in office in 1998–2006), introduced a policy to stop informal vendors and street children from working in the historic city center. Accordingly, the vendors were harassed and driven away and had their merchandise confiscated. The argument was that street vendors and their poverty had no place in the national tourism project; their large numbers and persistent selling strategies were said to intimidate tourists. ³ Several tourist market buildings have been opened, but as far as the ambulant vendors are concerned they are too far from the historic center and the rent for the stalls is too high (Steel, 2008: 51–67).

The authorities are ambivalent toward the indigenous population. On the one hand, the images, artifacts, and customs of indigenous peoples are used to promote Peru as a tourist destination. They contribute to the idea of Andean mysticism, which the state values as Peru’s most important tourist asset (Hill, 2007; 2008). On the other hand, indigenous people are seldom perceived as autonomous actors who should be taken seriously in the national tourism project. For example, the management of the protected park of Machu Picchu (where the ruins of Machu Picchu are located and through which the Inca Trail runs) would prefer that the park have no inhabitants. Policy documents argue that the approximately 250 peasant families that live in the park are nonindigenous and do not belong there. Labeling them “nonindigenous” provides the management with an excuse to push them out of the park. The peasants, however, intend to stay (Maxwell and Ypeij, 2009). ⁴

Local reactions to tourism are mixed. Many people, including the poor, do their utmost to benefit from tourism, but there is also much resentment of the state’s efforts to control tourism development, deny the agency of the local population, and allow foreign investment. Legal battles, strikes, demonstrations, blockades, and occupations have been used to protest these policies and attempt to regain local ownership of the tourism project (Flores Ochoa, 2004; Hill, 2007). The sácamefotos, tour guides, and weavers should be seen as individuals who want to be included in the national tourism project and work very hard to reach that goal.

Sácamefotos: Posing For Tourists’ Cameras

Tourists who visit Cuzco or Pisac (a small provincial town off the road to Machu Picchu) invariably encounter colorfully dressed indigenous women, often with children by their sides, small goats in their arms, or llamas on the end of ropes. These sácamefotos approach tourists and invite them to take their pictures in return for tips. Many tourists respond positively to this socially approved opportunity to gaze at Indian women and children. A few words, gestures, and smiles are exchanged before the posing and taking of the picture. Some tourists want to be included in the photo or to wear one of the women’s hats, which leads to laughter.

The sácamefotos mostly work at the Pisac handicrafts market, one of the most important markets in the Sacred Valley. This market is open almost every day of the week throughout the year. It originated in the Sunday regional food market, where indigenous people sell or exchange their agricultural produce (Henrici, 2002). The Sunday market still has this character, although tourist handicrafts are rapidly taking over. The sácamefotos also work at the Inca ruins near the village, and on Sundays they can be found at the church entrance. The Varayoc—male authority figures from the hillside communities—move in procession to the church, wearing typical indigenous clothing and carrying their silver staffs of office, in time for the Catholic mass, which is given in Quechua. They are an important tourist attraction and photo opportunity and are mentioned in many travel guides. The sácamefotos benefit from the presence of many tourists there to witness the spectacle as they too pose for the cameras (Henrici, 2002: 125).

The sácamefotos live in the hillside communities around Pisac. As semi-subsistence agriculturalists they are poor, and they earn only a modest second income from tourism. Besides the posing work, some of them also weave and make ceramics and other handicrafts for the tourist market. They present themselves in their most beautiful attire, which is traditionally worn only during festivities (Simon, 2008: 166–172). When they are at home or working in the fields, they prefer to wear brightly colored synthetic clothing, which they consider more practical because it is cheaper, cooler, and easier to wash. Only some older, Quechua-speaking women wear the heavy, layered woolen skirts on a daily basis. If one goes to Pisac early in the morning, before the tourist buses arrive, one can see groups of women crouching behind cars as they change their clothes and transform themselves into “authentic” Indians (Simon, 2008: 166–172).

The profession of sácamefoto is a consequence of tourists’ desires. Tourists have long visited the Sunday food market, which has come to represent the typical indigenous market, and many take pictures of the indigenous women working there. However, as Henrici (2002: 125) reports, the indigenous women were not happy that many photos of them were in circulation and appeared on postcards and began asking for money to have their pictures taken. Eventually, since they had noticed the tourists’ preference for colorful and romantic scenes, they began to dress in their best clothes and bring with them flowers, children, baby goats, and llamas. In recent years, the number of sácamefotos has increased considerably, and this has led to serious competition among them. As Simon (2009: 126) reports, some people who used to be beggars became sácamefotos. An old lady who used to beg on the steps of the Pisac church, for example, changed her tactics and now presents herself to tourists while spinning wool into yarn.

The position of these women in the tourist industry is contested, and their work produces tensions at various levels. Tourists appreciate them and describe them as, for example, “beautiful Indians” with “cute” children and as “authentic people” (Simon, 2009: 125; see also Henrici, 2002: 125). Nevertheless, the women sometimes annoy tourists. Some of them shout at tourists and follow them through the streets trying to attract their attention, and they are not alone. As Hill (2008: 270–271) has shown, tourists may be overwhelmed by the multitude of vendors, beggars, children, and other street workers, whose presence confronts them with social inequality and poverty. In reaction to this, they avoid making eye contact with street workers and try to ignore them. The guides who accompany the tourists mediate between the tourists and the sácamefotos. They may invite a group of sácamefotos to pose for the tourists and tell the tourists how much to pay them. They may also advise the women on how to present themselves, what to wear, and how to take care of themselves and their children. If the demeanor or appearance of a sácamefoto does not please the guides, they can tell the tourists not to take a picture of her or not to pay her anything (Simon 2008: 167; 2009: 132).

The villagers of Pisac have ambivalent feelings about the women. Although they appreciate them for their colorful representation of local culture, they think that there are too many of them and resent their bothering the tourists. They sometimes call them “dressed-up beggars,” expressing the feeling that posing in exchange for money is not real work and is something to be ashamed of (Simon, 2009: 123). The women’s appearance is also often criticized. For example, they adorn their hats with flowers that are used locally to convey the status of the young single woman even though they may be married. The flowers are believed to appeal to the tourists, and they also give the tourist guides the opportunity to tell their groups something about the ruins of Pisac, which have the same name as the flowers. The villagers of Pisac resent these new interpretations and laugh behind the women’s backs at their lack of knowledge of regional traditions (Henrici, 2002: 125; Simon, 2008: 169). The women are also blamed for disrupting the handicrafts trade. To escape them tourists may quicken their pace, leaving the vendors to watch their potential customers walk away. The villagers have therefore contracted guards (watchimen) to control the activities of the sácamefotos and, if necessary, chase them away (Simon, 2009: 123). A sácamefoto interviewed by Simon said (Simon, 2008: 169, my translation):

They treat us in different ways in Pisac. Some market vendors do not want us to do this work and say that we bother the tourists. But others call us over so that tourists can take pictures of us. The watchimen always send us away. They also push us, and then we say, “If I go, are you going to pay me?” It was easier to work in Pisac before there were watchimen.

The disapproval of sácamefotos among the villagers of Pisac needs to be placed in the context of race relations. The villagers perceive themselves mostly as mestizos (Henrici, 2002; Simon, 2008: 204–215). As handicrafts vendors and producers who work in the Pisac tourist market, they have experienced social mobility and economic success. They travel, live in urban dwellings, have some schooling, and speak fluent Spanish. They may idealize the Inca past and heritage and consider themselves descendants of the Incas, but this does not mean that they want to be identified with contemporary Indian people. Even if their own parents are indigenous peasants and monolingual Quechua-speakers, they may consider Indians uncivilized. By distancing themselves from contemporary Indian people they confirm their identity as mestizo men and women who are civilized and economically successful. De la Cadena (2000) calls this “de-Indianization.”

Although the sácamefotos earn only a few soles a day, their earnings are important for the everyday survival of their families. ⁵ They use the money to make necessary improvements to their houses, pay for their children’s schooling, and buy food. One woman, for example, told Simon that work had improved her life and that in the past she had not always had enough money to buy food (Simon, 2008: 167–168). But even though their work makes an important contribution to their daily survival, their communities do not consider it respectable. Some community members think the work is shameful and tantamount to begging, while others are jealous of the women’s earnings. Because of the negative meanings attached to their work, several women reported that they work secretly and hide it even from their husbands (Simon, 2009: 13, 133):

Nobody in my family knows that I do this—not even my husband. He would be angry and jealous if he knew that I have contact with gringos. Some other comuneros know I work as a sácamefoto, but they don’t say anything.

We sneak into Pisac. We only have our picture taken when we’re walking through the streets, so it doesn’t really show that we do this work. We also never sit down. I’m ashamed: that’s why I hide it. When I was a child, I worked as sácamefoto, but now I have children, and if my husband found out he would say, “Why do you go to Pisac to work?” . . . Sácamefotos are always criticized during town meetings. People always look down on sácamefotos and always ask: “Why do you go?” At the meetings, they say it is bad and that we should stop doing it.

These women’s behavior is judged inappropriate for indigenous women. They do not stay where they supposedly belong, in their communities, but come down to Pisac and occupy tourist space. While there, they do not behave as subdued and polite Indian women but dress in an exaggerated fashion, put on an act, and exploit their indigenousness and femininity. They openly try to draw tourists’ attention and at times approach them in a persistent way. On top of that, they expose their bodies to the tourists’ cameras in return for tips. In doing all this, they violate ethnic and gender boundaries and identities. But despite all the negativity toward their work, the women continue doing it. They consider their work and modest earnings important enough to do their work in secret.

Tour Guides on the Inca Trail

The many guides at work in the Cuzco–Machu Picchu region take tourists on sightseeing excursions through the center of Cuzco or the Sacred Valley or on multiday hiking tours along the Inca Trail. Although an increasing number of women also work as guides (mostly as assistants), particularly on one-day trips, most guides are men. In order to work on the Inca Trail, guides must have a diploma from one of the recognized Cuzco-based tourism schools, register with one of the associated tourism federations, and take annual training courses. Their working conditions are insecure. They often work for travel agencies on a temporary basis (Bosman, 2006), and they switch agencies or work independently for a while. They are not insured against work-related accidents or unemployment. In a survey of 60 guides, almost 90 percent mentioned the heavy responsibility and the low wages as the most negative aspects of their work (Bosman, 2005: 65).

Tourists hike the Inca Trail with at least two guides, a cook, and a number of porters, who carry all the equipment and supplies. Hikes last two to four days. Guides lead tourists past archeological remains and over a 4,000-meter-high pass to the archeological site of Machu Picchu, the highlight of the trip. At night, groups sleep at campsites set up on the land of local peasants. Guides play many roles that are decisive for the tourists’ experiences (Cohen, 1985; Dahles, 2002). They show the way, expound on nature and history, determine the rhythm of the hike, lead the team of personnel, and provide first aid (Bosman, 2006). Because of the high altitudes, the small, steep, sometimes slippery paths, and the low temperature at night, the Inca Trail is physically demanding and not without its dangers. Guides are responsible for the safety of the tourists and they must find solutions when tourists become sick or incapacitated.

Because a guide’s work demands an able and strong body, leadership, and a strong sense of responsibility, it is associated with a masculine identity and male values, such as authority, superiority, and machismo. The tourists depend on their guide and have to accept his authority. The guide’s authority is constantly performed and communicated to the tourists: he advises when it is best to eat, walk, rest, and sleep; if necessary, he takes over a heavy backpack; he hands out medicines; he gives orders to the porters and the cooks, and he negotiates with the local peasants about campsites. As Bosman (2006: 206) argues, to strengthen this position of authority, many guides claim that they are descended from the Incas. Guides assert, for example, that they speak Quechua, even if they know only a few Quechua words. They refer to the Incas as their ancestors, claim that they have inherited their physical endurance, and use the personal pronoun “we” when they speak about them (Bosman, 2005: 49; 2006: 207). They also perform indigenous rituals such as offering coca leaves to Mother Earth. When they recount their stories about the Incas, they leave out aspects that might shock the tourists such as internal wars, social inequality, and poverty (van den Berghe and Flores Ochoa, 2000: 20).

Nevertheless, glorifying the Inca as a noble and civilized people that lived in harmony with nature does not mean that the guides are always sympathetic toward contemporary indigenous peoples. Their narratives create a gap between the Inca heritage and contemporary indigenous peoples and reflect the ideology of indigenismo (or its Peruvian variant, Incanismo —reverence for the Inca past and the Quechua language) that emerged during the first half of the twentieth century (van den Berghe and Flores Ochoa, 2000: 20; see also Hill, 2007). The intellectuals and urban middle classes of Cuzco may refer to themselves as descendants of the ruling classes of the Incas. Inca society is depicted as noncapitalist and nonexploitative. Peru’s current social problems are considered the direct result of the Spanish conquest, which brought slavery, capitalist exploitation, and racism (van den Berghe and Flores Ochoa, 2000: 10). Although some guides sympathize with contemporary indigenous people, the tendency is to perceive Quechua-speaking peasants as degenerate, inferior, and backward (van den Berghe and Flores Ochoa, 2000: 12; see also de la Cadena, 2000: 5–7).

Guides play an important role in tourism as brokers (Cheong and Miller, 2004; Cohen, 1985; Dahles, 2002). In the Machu Picchu region, mestizo male guides mediate between tourists and indigenous tourist workers, which means that race and class relations are at play. They control the movements of the tourists, the contacts the tourists have with the indigenous workers, and consequently how much money these tourist workers can earn. Guides explain to tourists, for example, that the peasants who live along the Inca Trail do not originate from the area and are not “authentic” indigenous people. The guides decide who is interesting, indigenous, and real enough for the tourists to come in contact with. They tell tourists whether to take pictures of sácamefotos and how much to pay them. They take tourists to certain markets or restaurants (probably because they receive a commission) or advise them not to buy in certain places, because the people there are supposedly greedy or too modern (see also Ypeij and Zorn, 2007). Guides are often arrogant and sometimes even abusive and racist in their dealings with indigenous people.

Guides give tourists a special experience in the hope of earning money. The tips tourists give them at the end of tours can amount to 40 percent of their income (Bosman, 2006: 210–211). Some guides try to charm the female tourists in their groups; likewise, some women take to their guides during their multiday hikes (see also Bauer, 2008; Meisch, 2002). In the local discourse, guides are often associated with womanizing and the figure of the brichero—an Andean male who frequents tourist places such as bars and night clubs, where he presents himself as an exotic, charming seducer (Bauer, 2008: 613–614; Hill, 2007: 442–446; Vich, 2006). ⁶ Romantic relations with tourists permit a brichero to have a good time as the women invite him to restaurants or discos, give him money, or even pay for his ticket to visit them at home. Bricheros seduce women with stories about Andean mythology and their Inca descent. Some dress with indigenous identity markers such as ponchos or chulos and wear their hair in ponytails. They represent the exotic mystic Andean lover. This figure is so much a part of the local tourist scene that two short stories have been published about him (Vich, 2006). The 2010 edition of the Lonely Planet guide includes a short piece on bricheros (Lonely Planet, 2010: 252).

One of the local interpretations of the term brichero is that it derives from the English word “bridge” and that this figure bridges the gap between the culture of the tourist and his own, between the global and the local world (Vich, 2006). Guides are often associated with the figure of the brichero because in the eyes of their families, friends, and other local community members, they live between two worlds. The world of the tourists is perceived as different, strange, and even dangerous. Although their dollars are highly valued, tourists are associated with drugs, alcohol abuse, and promiscuity (Bosman, 2006: 213). Guides deal with tourists on a daily basis, and some become alienated from family and friends who disapprove of their work and criticize their new way of life (Bosman, 2006: 210–213). They are often away from home for days at a time. They have a few dollars to spend and have learned to appreciate a Western lifestyle. They may dress like tourists, wearing the typical hiker clothing, shoes, and sunglasses of international brands along with Andean identity markers. After the hike, guides show the tourists around restaurants and nightclubs that are typically tourist haunts. As Bosman’s study shows, they can lose contact with their families and friends, for whom they no longer have much time. Guides appreciate what they learn from tourists. As one of the guides interviewed by Bosman (2006: 212, my translation) explained:

The benefit of working with tourists is that we make contact with people from more developed cultures, from such countries as England, Europe, the United States and Japan. It’s not that people from these countries are better, but they have advanced technology and more knowledge. We can learn a lot from them, both as a country and at the personal level.

Their contacts with tourists and the things they learn damage their relations with local men and women. Romantic relationships with local women are becoming increasingly difficult, because the guides are influenced by Western notions of gender and sexuality, while local women may have more conservative expectations of how men and women should relate to each other (Bosman, 2006: 212). Family and friends complain that the guides do not have time for them, dress differently, behave oddly, and expect different things from life. Many guides remain single and are rather isolated from their friends and families (Bosman, 2005).

The work on the Inca Trail strengthens the guides’ masculine and ethnic identities. It allows them to embrace machista values, such as behaving in an authoritarian way, expressing their superiority, and impressing others with their able bodies and their sexual conquests. They distance themselves from contemporary indigenous people, whom they perceive as degenerate, and praise their own Inca heritage. Through their contacts with tourists they increasingly identify with Western values and interpret their ethnicity as a blend of Western notions and Incanismo.

The Women Weavers of Chinchero

Chinchero also has a well-known tourist market but differs from Pisac in that many indigenous men and women live in the village itself. In the past decade, the indigenous women of Chinchero, who mostly come from semi-subsistence peasant families, have become very visible, increasingly dressing in colorful indigenous clothing and layered woolen skirts. Tourists can buy their weavings at the tourist market or one of the new weaving centers in the tourist areas of Chinchero. These centers are founded on local initiatives and are run and owned by weaving associations. Although entire families are often members of these associations, it is particularly the women who work there.

Some weaving centers are located in women’s houses, while other associations have their own buildings; however, all workshops have the intimacy of a private place. The main activities take place in the courtyard. Weavings of all sizes decorate the benches, adobe walls, and counters. Children play, a baby is breastfed, and now and then a pet receives attention. Dye to color the wool is prepared on an adobe stove. Many herbs are displayed in clay pots. Guinea pigs, the local food specialty, are kept in cages. Strands of wool are hung up to dry. Groups of women sit on the ground or low benches while they weave and chat away in Quechua, or they dart back and forth between the two ends of a new weaving that is being set up on the ground. This secluded space is undeniably domestic and cozy and very attractive to tourists, who are served a cup of coca tea and can sit on one of the benches and listen to the explanations of the women in Spanish and the translations of the guides. The women demonstrate the dyeing of the wool, various weaving techniques, and spinning. Needless to say, the tourists take many photos. The women’s ultimate goal is, of course, to get the tourists to buy some weavings.

These associations are following the example of Nilda Callañaupa, an indigenous woman from Chinchero who went to the university in the United States. Back in the 1990s she started organizing women into weaving associations with the aim of providing them with an income and reviving old weaving techniques (Callañaupa, 2007). Today, approximately 600 women from peasant communities all over the Sacred Valley are part of her Center for Traditional Textiles of Cuzco. Their weavings are sold in two shops-cum-museums in Cuzco and Chinchero. Callañaupa’s success has encouraged many other women to set up their own weaving associations and centers. Now, approximately 300 women and their families are members of some dozen associations. The members of these associations employ a discourse similar to that of Callañaupa. Although they do not underestimate the importance of the income from sales, they put a lot of emphasis on their cultural roots. They consider the use of their mother tongue (Quechua), the reestablishment of the traditions of their ancestors (the Incas), and the wearing of indigenous clothing very important for their self-identification.

Most weaving is considered a feminine task. Although some men are learning to weave on table looms, the most complicated and appreciated patterns are made by women on backstrap looms. These looms consist of sticks, rope, and a strap that is worn around the weaver’s waist; while using it, the woman sits on the ground or a little stool. The women do not wear their heavy, expensive indigenous clothing while working at home or traveling to the city of Cuzco, but their indigenous clothing is very important for them because it attracts tourists to the village. The 2010 edition of the Lonely Planet guide describes Chinchero as a “typical Andean” village with “a colorful Sunday market” and “traditionally dressed locals” (Lonely Planet, 2010: 263). As one woman told me: “This attire was worn by our ancestors, and we therefore wear it with much pride. In the past, we stopped wearing these costumes, but we have started wearing them again. That is very good for us, because it is typical clothing, as are the braids. It also attracts tourists, who take pictures of us.” Because their clothing is related to their work in the weaving centers, their weaving art, and their wish to revive the life of their ancestors, wearing it is a matter of pride and serves to strengthen their indigenous and feminine identities. These women also sell their weavings and other handicrafts (which are often bought from wholesalers or directly from producers) independently as ambulant vendors in the city of Cuzco or at the Chinchero tourist market. The income they earn from their work in tourism can be substantial. It allows them to pursue higher education and to make considerable improvements to their houses. The downside to the large number of women engaged in weaving is that the handicrafts market suffers from competition and overproduction, which leads to lower prices and fewer sales (Ypeij and Zorn, 2007; Zorn, 2004).

Most tourists visit Chinchero while they are on an excursion through the Sacred Valley. They arrive in buses and with guides, who are decisive for the way tourists move through the village. Guides often lead their groups straight to the ruins and the market. The women depend largely on the willingness of the guides (some of whom, on this route, are women) to bring groups to their centers. They also give advice about making the interior of the workshops look more “authentic” and about what prices to ask. As brokers, they are in a powerful position (Cheong and Miller, 2004).

As in the case of the sácamefotos, the relationship between mestizo male guides and women weavers is unequal. The guides control the contact between weavers and tourists and expect a 15 to 20 percent commission, which the women of Chinchero consider far too much. (The husband of one of the women used the word “corruption” with regard to this practice.) I once witnessed a heated argument between an angry guide and some weavers. He came running in after two of his tourists had left and claimed his money in a disdainful and offending way. He refused to believe that the tourists had only taken photos rather than buying something. The women were clearly upset by his behavior. Although the weavers realize that guides can abuse their power and demand too much, they largely depend on them for their sales. Since having good relations with guides means that they will bring tourists to visit their weaving center, the women do a lot to please them.

Becoming involved in weaving associations and other tourism work brings important changes in women’s daily lives. Women invest more and more time in their tourism work and are frequently away from home. This, in combination with the income they earn, leads to changes in gender relations and generates conflict and resistance. As Callañaupa put it,

In our culture, it has always been the men who earned the money. The woman belonged to the house, but with these groups [of women weavers] it is different. We have had positive experiences where the husband is content with his wife’s work and helps at home [with the household chores]. But we have also negative experiences where there have been many discussions and disagreements in the house. At times we had to intervene, and some women have withdrawn for this reason. But, in general, the families involved see this as a good opportunity. The role of women has changed. Before women spent much time on their plots of land, but now they spend more time on their weavings. There has always been a little bit of machismo in our culture. The male feels superior. But he now feels inferior because the woman is earning the money. This definitely is a change.

The leaders of other organizations also report that before the advent of weaving centers, the women mainly worked at home and in agriculture. Income-generating activities were mainly the preserve of men. Nowadays, however, some women earn more than men. In one case, the woman was away from home the entire day working while her husband looked after their little children. Compared with her fellow villagers she was rather wealthy. She had worked in the United States for a few months teaching weaving courses, and her earnings had enabled her, once back in Chinchero, to invest in her house and buy a car. In his study on indigenous weavers in Guatemala, Little (2004: 221) reaches comparable conclusions and stresses women’s new positions as breadwinners.

The women weavers strengthen their ethnic and feminine identities and economic positions through their weaving. The secluded areas of the centers they have created are in many ways reminiscent of the indigenous home. The low benches, the way the women sit on the ground weaving with the loom attached to their bodies, the way they stand bent forward as they work at the adobe stove, and the many herbs they use to prepare the dyes are all expressions of women’s closeness to the earth, their indigenousness, and their femininity. It fills the women with pride to present themselves as indigenous women and descendants of the Incas. Gender, class, and ethnic inequalities receive new meaning as they deal with guides who may abuse their power and reinterpret the sexual division of labor and their gender identities at home.

Conclusions

These three cases show that the intersection of gender and ethnicity in tourism work produces a multitude of meanings and outcomes. The male guides’ work is closely related to notions of masculinity, superiority, physical strength, and being mestizo with roots in Inca history. The work of the sácamefotos and the weavers is supported by their indigenous femininity, female bodies, clothing, and weaving art as they mirror tourists’ desire for romantic images. All workers appreciate their work not only for the earnings but also for the contact they have with tourists, the pride they feel in their work, and the new skills and lifestyles they achieve.

This study confirms Babb’s (2011: 153) insight that the Indianness of indigenous women can be perceived as cultural capital. The tourists’ appreciation of their colorful appearance as the cultural Other enables them to generate an income. However, not all indigenous women are automatically successful in converting their cultural capital into economic capital. The limitations that sácamefotos experience can prevent their incomes from rising above the subsistence level. Their households remain mostly poor and dependent on semi-subsistence farming and some additional cash earnings. Whether male, female, mestizo, or indigenous, all these workers use their ethnicity and gender in such a way that it can be perceived as cultural capital.

The case of the women weavers shows that gender relations can be transformed radically and gender inequality receive new meanings in the context of tourism work. The sexual division of labor changes as women weavers become important income generators who may even earn more than their men and the men become increasingly involved in household chores and child care. This case is especially remarkable because of the economic success of some of the women weavers, whose households increasingly depend on cash incomes generated in tourism. Some women use these earnings for higher education, while others have become wealthy. Though this is only a recent development, it makes one wonder if this might be the beginning of a trend toward social mobility for indigenous women. In any case, their economic success challenges the linkage between ethnicity and class and the related association between femininity, indigenousness, and poverty.

While the women weavers may improve their gender position vis-à-vis their spouses and improve the economic position of their households, the structures of the tourism industry produce new gender, ethnic, and class inequalities. The mediation of mestizo male guides between tourists and the indigenous female tourist workers leads to new expressions of racism and sexism. Guides skim the women’s earnings and decide which women are “authentic” enough for the tourists to meet, what the price of their services and handicrafts should be, and whether or not to bring tourists into contact with them.

The degree of integration of these three groups of workers into the formal tourism project of the state varies. The sácamefotos can be considered the most marginalized because their work is often contested by the local authorities. The guides are the most integrated; they are formally educated, registered, and acknowledged by the authorities. The women weavers of Chinchero take an intermediate position; they are formally organized into associations, but the state does not give them any support or protection. These different degrees of integration reflect the many social inequalities in which tourism work is embedded and the social tensions and inequalities it creates. The sácamefotos have to resist social condemnation from within and outside their communities. Their movements are partly controlled by the guards. Guides can intervene in their contacts with tourists, and some women are forced to hide their work from their husbands if they wish to continue. The tour guides are labeled bricheros by their friends and family, with whom they lose contact as a result of their changed lifestyle. The women weavers have to accept that the level of their earnings (partly) depends, on the guides and that new gender inequalities are created.

This production and reinforcement of social inequalities is an important reason that MacCannell’s (1973; 1999 [1976]) idea of staged as opposed to real identities among tourist workers is problematic (see also Little, 2004: 269–270). The tourism workers in these three cases link their identities to their work in many ways. They create new meanings, transgress social and cultural boundaries, strengthen their self-images, and challenge existing notions of gender, class, and ethnicity. The tourism work and the identities of the workers are closely related, and this has an important effect on why and how they work, how much they earn, the social appreciation they receive, and the new paths they discover. However, their agency is not unlimited, and their identities are not formed in isolation. Their work and identities are embedded in social relations in which ethnicity-, class-, and gender-based power differentials are at play. The sácamefotos and the weavers are not free to determine for themselves how to deal with tourists. Guards, husbands, and tour guides control to some extent the way they work. Class, gender, and ethnic inequalities form a very real part of their identity and penetrate the tourist scene. Examining the intersection of gender and ethnicity and the complex way in which tourism work and workers’ identities are related makes it clear that that there is no part of those identities that is untouched by tourism. Although there are many moments in their lives in which tourists are not present, their experiences with tourists and the tourism industry are an integral part of their social positioning and of who they are.